the favourite was withdrawn at the last moment
from the Derby—and I, too, who had intended to
back him to any extent!  I declare I was never
more disappointed in my life.  What's his
motive?"

"He said he was out of practice," replied
Castletowers, hesitatingly.

"Nonsense. That wasn't his real motive.
He knew nobody else would have a chance, and
he was too generous to carry off all the
honours."

"Do you really think so?" said Miss Colonna,
suddenly.  She had listened to the conversation
till now, without taking part in it.

"I do, indeed. What does Lord Castletowers
say?"

"I say that Miss Hatherton is right; and I
know her to be right. Trefalden could write his
name in bullets on that target, if he chose—but
he won't."

Miss Hatherton turned to Miss Colonna in a
glow of enthusiasm.

"That's true nobleness!" she exclaimed.

"Indeed it is," said Castletowers. "He's
the finest fellow I have ever known, savage or
civilised."

But Miss Colonna said nothing.

"I wish you'd bring him this way, Lord
Castletowers," said the heiress. "I like talking
to him—he amuses me immensely."

"You shall have him by-and-by," laughed the
Earl; "but he is our judge in the rifle-matches,
and can't be spared at present. Excuse me—
another carriage full of ladies. I am master of
the ceremonies."

And with this he ran off to receive the
Cadogans.

The appointed hour being overpast, the
ladies expectant, and the audience considerable,
it was decided that they should begin.

Lord Castletowers was seen to cross the
course, and enter the cricketing tent at the
further end, whence he presently emerged with
his cartridge-box belted on, and his rifle in
his hand.  He was followed by five others,
similarly equipped. Saxon Trefalden, in his
quality as judge, took up a safe position to
the right of the target. Miss Hatherton
surveyed them through her opera-glass as they
came over the ground and placed themselves
about a dozen yards off with their backs to the
stand.

"Dear me! they are very near us," said Lady
Arabella, with that pretty timidity that is
less charming at eight-and-forty than at
eighteen. "I hope it is not dangerous."

"Don't be alarmed, my dear friend," said
Miss Hatherton, "Gentlemen don't generally
fire behind their own backs. So, Major Vaughan
begins—and a very good shot, too—very near
the bull's eye. Who is that remarkably handsome
fair man to the right?"

The question was addressed to Miss Colonna;
but it received no reply. Olimpia heard the
words, as she heard the report of the first rifle,
without attaching any import to the sound, just
as her eyes were fixed upon the target, but saw
nothing. She was absorbed in thought—very
painful thought, as it would seem, by the strange
hard way in which her lips were drawn together,
and her fingers were mechanically twisting and
tearing the programme which they held.

Miss Hatherton turned to repeat the inquiry;
but, seeing the expression on Olimpia's face,
remained silent. It was an expression that startled
her, and puzzled her as much as it startled her.
An expression such as one sees but seldom in
the course of an ordinary life; neither wholly
resolute, nor hopeless, nor defiant; but a blending,
perhaps, of all three, with something else
that might have been compunction—or despair.

Curiosity so far prevailed, that for some three
or four seconds Miss Hatherton continued to
stare at Olimpia instead of watching the
competitors, and thus, to her infinite mortification,
lost the thread of the firing. Of course, none of
the ladies on the platform could help her. They
saw the riflemen, and they saw the marks on the
target; but not one among them had the
dimmest idea of the order in which those marks had
been dealt, or of the hands that had bestowed
them. The appointed number of rounds,
however, having been fired out, the question was set
at rest by the announcement that Sir Charles
Burgoyne had carried off the first prize. Sir
Charles Burgoyne sauntered up accordingly to
the front of the platform, and received the cup
from Miss Colonna's hand with the best-bred
indifference in the world.

"You don't share my passion for these
contests, Miss Colonna," said the heiress, in the
pause that ensued between the first and second
match. The strange look had vanished from
Olimpia's face long since; but Miss Hatherton
could not forget it—would have given
something to fathom it.

"Indeed you mistake. I think them very
interesting," replied Olimpia.

"But of course they cannot have so much
interest for you as for me. Your sympathies
are bound up in a great cause, and you must
have fewer small emotions on hand."

"Perhaps," said Olimpia, with a forced
smile.

"No bad news from Italy, I hope?"

"The news at present," replied Olimpia, "is
neither bad nor good. It is a season of anxious
suspense for all whose hearts are in the cause."

"You look anxious," said Miss Hatherton,
kindly, but inquisitively. "I thought just now
I never saw a face look so anxious as yours.
You didn't seem to remark the firing at all."

A crimson tide rushed to Olimpia's face,
flooded it, and ebbed away, leaving her paler
than before.

"I am quite strong enough," she replied,
coldly, "to sustain such cares as fall to my lot."

The competitors for the second rifle-match
were now on the ground, and the conversation
dropped. There were but four this time—
Lord Castletowers, Sir Charles Burgoyne, Major
Vaughan, and Lieutenant Torrington. Having
five shots each, they fired alternately, one shot at
a time, in their order as they stood—Vaughan